Not One Step Back
by sneag
Summary: The experiences of a young soldier in the Death Korps of Krieg.  From earning his comission through hard fought sieges and deadly trench warfare to his possible death.  I haven't yet decided.
1. Chapter I

This is the first chapter of a story I'm writing but if nobody likes it I'll just leave it as a one-shot. I'm using the British army command structure in this so a battalion is made up of 5 companies of about 100 men which are made up of 3 platoons of 32 men which are made up of 3 sections of 8 to 10 men. I will also swear in English - I don't know the 40k versions. Don't worry I wont use any words I didn't know when I was 13. Sadly I knew pretty much all of them. I also apologise in advance for the formatting but for some reason ff won't let me indent.

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The bombardment had been going on for six days. By now sixteen year-old Guardsman Helmut Lossow, 'Helmet' to his _hilarious_ comrades, would readily admit that it was becoming a trifle tedious. It wasn't the incessant booms – he was a kriegsman, he was trained to sit through months of artillery barrages without developing slight shellshock. It was the fact that he had been shipped off to Cadia at the height of the 13th Black Crusade and he had _nothing _to do but watch the heretical bastards who were supposed to be fighting him shell the false earthworks in front of Kasr Vek. Being on sentry duty didn't help either: he _had_ to watch ineffective shelling – at least when he was off duty he could drink or gamble with his mates. Contrary to popular – civilian – belief the Death Korps weren't faceless automatons at all; beneath the gas mask was a living breathing human being just like any other. Only more fatalistic. And more unflinching. And more cloned. In fact not much like other human beings at all.

Suddenly the previously peaceful horizon erupted with a great mass of shapes. Lossow could see that most of them were as normal as Chaos worshipping scum could get but scattered among them were the hulking shapes of Chaos Space Marines.  
"Sergeant!" Lossow called out. "They're here."  
The Sergeant looked at the oncoming mass. "Well done lad. Go and take up your position, I'll inform the major."

The fear arrived. Watching the horde of Chaos-worshippers surge forwards evoked a wave of gut-clenching, bowel-loosening fear. Adrenaline flooded Lossow's bloodstream as his body's natural fight or flight reflex kicked in. But Guardsman Helmut Lossow was a Kriegsman: flight was an option he refused to take, so fight he must.

The barrel of Lossow's lasgun glowed dully from repeated firing. The chaos scum were barely halfway to the Imperial fortifications and the defenders must have killed well over three hundred of them yet the deluded fanatics didn't even falter. Things got worse for the defenders when the said fanatics opened fire on the run. For the Death Korps company this wasn't really a problem, the three Cadian Whiteshield companies also defending Kasr Vek, however, weren't as used to this kind of warfare. The head of the whiteshield standing next to Lossow exploded in a cloud of red gore. All the nearby whiteshields turned to watch their now headless comrade fall to the floor. Lossow wasn't entirely sure if the sickly green colour their faces had turned was fear or one of Nurgle's plagues but he fervently hoped it was the former. Then, as one, the Cadians threw down their weapons and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Lossow decided that the best way he could help the situation was to keep shooting the forces of Chaos. The defenders fire had slackened significantly: not only were there three hundred less defenders but the Kriegan Lucius-pattern lasguns were semi-automatic, single shot affairs unlike their Cadian Standard Short-pattern counterparts.

Lossow looked down his guns sights for what must have been the hundredth time since the Chaos bastards had appeared on the horizon, barely half an hour ago. He lined up on a cultist running full tilt at the imperials and pulled the trigger. The lasgun kicked back brutally into his already bruised shoulder. The cultist fell, the hole in his chest the size of a tennis ball – Lucius-pattern lasguns fired more slowly than others but they packed a bigger punch. Lossow had time for one more shot, a traitor guardsman preparing to throw a grenade, before the Chaos forces were upon the Death Korp defenders.

A cultist leaped into the trench wildly swinging a sword at Lossow. Lossow brought his gun up to block before following through to club the cultist's face with the stock. Stunned, the cultist dropped to his knees. Lossow brought his rifle up to his shoulder and shot the cultist in the left temple. A horrible stench reached Lossow's nostrils; before Lossow jellified his brain the cultist had shat himself. Insanely pleased he was wearing a gas mask Lossow looked up to find himself face to warped helmet with a Chaos Space Marine.

Lossow couldn't breathe. Personally, he blamed the power-armoured hand that had his throat in an iron grip.  
"Die Imperial Worm!" The helmet growled.  
The best response Lossow could summon went along the lines of. "Hhaakkh." Perhaps not his finest moment. Nothing he did broke the Chaos Marine's hold on Lossow's throat. Neither kicking nor flailing had any effect; he'd have more luck beating up a plascrete bunker with his fists. He saw his lasrifle on the ground and would have gasped, if it weren't for a certain marine – he never had time to fix his bayonet. It was still scabbarded in his boot. Lossow reached down, drew his bayonet and plunged it into the only soft-looking part of his opponent: the unarmoured neck joint between helmet and chestplate. Lossow's favourite Chaos Marine gurgled, dropped Lossow then promptly fell on top of him. His estimation of the dead weight had risen from thirty stone through ten tons to somewhere near that of a small battleship before someone rolled the corpse off him. The stylised-skull gas mask of Major Hoffman appeared in Lossow's vision.  
"Hand up there, son?" The Major asked sounding faintly amused. At least, as much as is possible through a gas mask.  
Lossow accepted the proffered hand. "Thanks sir. Where've they gone?"  
"They all ran when you knifed that big bugger. Nice work that by the way". The Major took off his gas mask and got out a box of lho sticks. "Want one?"  
"Ah, no thanks sir. I don't." Lossow refused trying to wave the box away.  
The major was undeterred. "They help with the stress."  
"Well alright then, thanks sir." Lossow took a lho out of the box and accepted Hoffman's light.  
"Oh, don't thank me. The first one's always horrible – and excellent entertainment for everyone nearby." The Major said, laughing at Lossow who had taken one pull and was now bent double coughing his guts out. "Enjoy that then get ready; these chaos scum will be back – especially now those whiteshields've buggered off.

Five minutes later the Major had called a meeting of all ranks above Guardsman in the command tent, Lossow had decided that maybe lho sticks weren't that bad after all and that bloody artillery had started again. They were still shelling the ground in front of the fortifications so no-one got killed. That is, until one shell overshot the rest and landed slap-bang on the command tent.

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Now, I'm too proud to beg so I'll ask nicely, once. Please Review. Constructive criticism will be taken on board, flames will be laughed at.


	2. Chapter II

Sorry to all the people who were waiting for me to update this, if any are left, but stuff happened. I'd like to thank Colonelwalrus, Vinculus and Mephisteron for their reviews. Now, Mephisteron, I know Kriegans are German – look at the names! – and that they are organised differently than they are in my story but I'm trying to show that they are still human despite being grown from the Vitae Womb, which I will explore in a later chapter, and it's easier to show humanity if they're in smaller groups.

Seeing as I forgot last chapter I would like you to consider this entire story officially disclaimed.

Once again I apologise for the formatting, ruins my beautifully formatted word docs. Well, properly formatted word docs.

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The command tent was gone. Atomised by the Chaos artillery shell. Major Hoffman was dead. As was anyone with any kind of rank. The rest of the Death Korps Company stared at the crater in stunned silence; only looking away when one soldier broke down.  
"We're dead! We're all dead!" The Korpsman threw down his gun and turned to run. He got a whole three paces before falling, a smoking hole in the back of his head.  
Lossow lowered his rifle. "Coward." Then addressed what was left of the company. "Anyone else want to run? No? Good. Now all the vox sets were in the command tent so we've got no idea how long we'll be here. I want some people collecting as much ammunition as possible. The Cadians dropped their weapons when they ran; use the powerpacks from them – they should fit our rifles. We'll need a few sentries as well. Everyone else get some kip, we don't know when we'll next get the chance."  
A small weaselly man with a dirty Lasrifle stepped forward to argue. "Hey! Who put you in charge? Why should we do what you say? You're only a Guardsman like us."  
"He put himself in charge." A great bear of a man had stepped in front of the weasel. "And you _will _do what he says or I'll rearrange your face, clear?" He waited for the weasel to nod. "Good. Now because you seem to like talking out of turn so much you can get your arse out to a sentry post and shout out if you see anything even slightly Chaotic." The weasel didn't look too happy but headed off in the right direction.  
Lossow took charge again, indicating half a dozen guardsmen. "You! Go and collect powerpacks. Pile them behind the trenches. I want a pile every fifty yards. Everyone else go and get some sleep." No-one moved. "NOW!" The shout sent them scrambling off, most to the dugouts to sleep while those indicated started collecting powerpacks. After a few moments only Lossow and the bear were left. "Thanks for your help with him." Lossow said, extending his hand.  
The bear took it, crushing Lossow's fingers in the process. "Welcome. I did it because you appear to know what you're doing, and because I figured you'd just shoot him like the other one. You some kind of vet?"  
Lossow shifted uncomfortably. "Ahm... I'm sixteen; that was my first contact. It's more instinct than experience."  
"So long as we win no-one will care how you did it lad."  
Just then one of Lossow's section mates ran up. "Helmet, they're back, but they're doing it properly this time."  
"What do you mean they're doing it properly?" Lossow snapped, irritated his new friend had discovered his nickname.  
"We think they're Traitor Guard of some kind, they're professionals whatever. They're using cover, skirmish order, smoke grenades, the lot." The ubiquitous Death Korps gas mask hid his face but he sounded worried.  
"Right get everyone into the trenches." Lossow paused for a moment. "Have them fix bayonets, I expect them to reach us again."  
"Yes boss." The Korpsman said before running off, leaving a slightly shocked Lossow in his wake.  
"Boss?" He muttered incredulously.  
The bear clapped him on the shoulder. "'Swat you are now, like it or not. But I prefer Helmet personally. Where's it come from?"  
"My name's Helmut. Helmut Lossow."  
This got a laugh from the bear. "I get it. I'm Lukas Kruger"  
Lossow nodded. "Well Kruger it sounds like breaktime's over, let's get our arses over to the trenches."

The bright red lasfire flashed back and forth. Lossow resisted the urge to duck as a shot fleshed past his head. The whole point of walking in the open behind the trenches was to appear imperturbable; ducking at every near miss would make him look very perturbable indeed. His musings on the nature of imperturbability were interrupted when the man in front of him went down, a round to the throat snapping his neck, killing him instantly. Lossow dropped down into the space left and joined the fighting. The Traitor Guard were using the shell holes from the artillery as cover. One popped up, took a shot and Lossow shot him before he could duck back down. Lossow felt for a grenade. He pulled the pin and waited, cooking the grenade. He tossed it over the lip of the trench before ducking back down. Lossow was a good cook; the grenade exploded six feet above the Traitors position, eviscerating four of them and convincing one that the wrath of his masters was better than dying in a muddy field. He broke and ran. Slowly, the rest joined. At first in twos or threes but soon enough all the Traitor Guard were fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them. The Death Korps raised a cheer. Lossow let them have a few seconds of elation before putting them back to work.  
"Alright gentlemen, that's enough." He waited for the cheers to die down before continuing. "We're not done for the day. They'll be back. Get some food and kip while you can."

Lossow was right. More traitor guard attacked at dusk. The Death Korps fought them off but with heavy losses: of the full company of a hundred men who woke up that morning only fifty lived to see the next. And the attack that came with it.

Lossow and Kruger were standing in a sentry post watching the new attack come over the ridge, nearly a mile away.  
"We're dead." Kruger said miserably. "There must be two hundred of them, and a dozen marines."  
Lossow laughed mercilessly. "Kruger, we're Kriegsmen: we're born dead men, you know that. We just gotta drag as many of the Emperor's enemies to hell with us as we can.  
"Doesn't make it any more pleasant though Helmet." Kruger replied, taking a drag on his lho stick.  
"I know. I'm not particularly looking forward to it either. No-one is. But they'll kill us if we fight or give up and I'm not going to cower in a corner and just let those bastards kill me – they're gonna have to work for it. I just hope the lads agree." Lossow finished off his lho, threw it away and pulled on his gas mask. "Come on Kruger, we've work to do, Chaos to kill, deaths to die."  
Kruger smiled. "Aye aye, boss."

The Traitor's chest exploded. Lossow had chosen a new target by the time he hit the floor. He pulled the trigger. This time blowing off an arm. He was sighting on a third when stars exploded across his vision. He fell forward twisting to land on his back. A traitor was standing behind him, the butt of his lasgun raised to hit Lossow again. Lossow twisted aside; taking the blow that would have split his skull on his chest. A nasty splintering sound indicated some ribs going. Lossow lashed out with his boot, catching the traitor in the crotch. The traitor doubled over, gasping for breath. A passing Korpsman bayoneted him then went about his business. Lossow hauled himself up, wincing as pain flared in his chest. He could feel at least two ribs grating but he was no medic – he couldn't tell if they were broken or merely cracked. Pushing the pain aside Lossow drew the bayonet from his boot and went to find someone to drag to hell with him. He didn't have to look hard. He found a traitor looting a corpse, cut his throat and moved on before his victim even died. Lossow's next enemy put up little more of a fight – he charged Lossow with a knife held above his head, screaming madly. Lossow felt a grin form beneath his gas mask as he kicked the traitors leading leg; breaking the knee backwards before plunging the bayonet into the traitor's throat. Lossow was grinning because he was suddenly finding this so very easy – his enemies seemed to move pitifully slowly while he himself moved as fast as ever. He found himself in the middle of a melee with half a dozen Korpsmen fighting at least twice their number of traitor guard. He could ignore the traitor in front of him because he was still pulling back to stab and wouldn't be able to for at least half a second but the traitor officer to his right had a sword swinging towards his head. Lossow ducked the sword and drove his bayonet between the officers ribs into his heart before the officer could even register surprise that he missed. But the traitor to Lossow's front was stabbing forward now so Lossow stepped aside, allowing the traitor to overbalance before he contemptuously cut his throat and moved on. A roar snapped Lossow's head round. He found a Chaos Marine charging towards him but he was moving as slowly as everyone else – as if he was moving through water, no, it was slower than that, treacle, or maybe golden syrup. Lossow had time to ponder, as he sheathed his bayonet and picked up a dead Korpsman's rifle, why a Chaos Marine with millennia of experience would be so amateurish as to go into a warzone without a helmet. He never found out, simply taking advantage by putting a round between the eyes instead. Lossow paused to look around. He saw Kruger punch another Chaos Marine to the ground before finishing him with a pistol shot to the head. He saw a pair of his Korpsmen throwing grenades round a corner then the twin explosions fling three traitor bodies into the wall of the trench. And he saw a Kriegsman he didn't recognise, then another. It wasn't until he laid eyes on the stylised skull gas mask of an officer did he realise relief had arrived.

An hour after they had been relieved an officer came to speak to the survivors of the company. Most of them were asleep but Lossow and Kruger were sitting inside the dugout, smoking and sharing a ration pack. When the officer ducked through the doorway they started to rise but he waved them down.  
"At ease lads, you've earned a rest. I'm Major Blucher; I just want to ask a few questions." Blucher took a seat and appraised the two for a moment before continuing. "Who took charge after the command tent was destroyed?"  
Lossow swallowed his mouthful of food. "Me, sir."  
The Major nodded. "I thought as much. It's Lossow isn't it?" He waited for Lossow to nod before continuing. "How old are you lad? You look barely old enough to shave."  
"I'm sixteen..." Lossow paused just long enough for it to be disrespectful before adding. "sir."  
Blucher held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "I apologise, I meant no offense. It's just that in light of your actions here we have decided to award you a battlefield commission. You're the youngest officer in Death Korps history, Second Lieutenant Lossow."  
Lossow was stunned but managed to choke out "Er... Thank you, sir."  
Blucher stood and made his way out, pausing at the door. "My company's a platoon short so organise these survivors into one. You have the authority to appoint your own NCOs... Lieutenant." Lossow just sat there stunned until Kruger blew a lungful of smoke in his face.  
"I'd better be getting those stripes, sir."


End file.
